Redundant
by rib
Summary: We are so retarded. one-sided ChristopheKenny, ChristopheGregory


Kenny thinks the whole situation is retarded. But that's because the three of them are being retarded about it. The whole thing is all very cliché, too, and you'd think they'd know better. But no. They are too fucking retarded.

Gregory let Kenny in. Kenny'd been hanging out on the doorstep because he knew Christophe wasn't there yet, but Gregory saw the smoke from his cigarette and insisted he get out of the cold. He offered Kenny a drink, which the blonde gratefully accepted. He let Kenny continue to smoke, seeing as "'Tophe does all the time, anyway."

Kenny was both happy and unhappy that Gregory was so courteous. Being so well-mannered meant not stabbing the-person-you-were-in-love-with's whore with a hot poker, which was, by the way, a mere two feet away. But being treated so politely by the person whose life you were ruining by stealing the love of their life away made Kenny feel a lot worse.

Both blondes in orange were tired, and it showed. Prominent dark rings had appeared under near-identical blue eyes (Kenny's were a bit more almond-shaped.)

_Kenny was sorry; truly, he was. But love tended to make people retarded sometimes, and telling Gregory to just go ahead and tell a certain Frenchie he was in love with him would be awfully hypocritical. But then, Christophe was in love with Gregory too, so why not just let them be together? Because Kenny was in love with Chris too, is fucking why. Why else would he take him as a client every night when he could get more somewhere else? Why did he let the brunette call him Gregory every night and forbid him from speaking because they didn't sound the same? Oh, yeah; because he was fucking in love with him. And love makes people retarded._

It had started two months ago. Kenny had been a whore long enough to differentiate a slow night from a busy one, and boy, was it a slow night. As he was leaning against a lamp post (the only one on that street that lit,) he noticed a slightly taller and more than slightly familiar French mercenary trudge up to him. Wasting no time at all, he grabbed Kenny's head, pushing back his bangs so they'd appear slicked back (messily.) He blew smoke into his face, to which Kenny scrunched up his features (he smoked too, but who likes smoke being blown in their face?) Chris stared hard at him for a while.

"How much?" His gruff voice sent shivers down Kenny's spine.

They had what you would call a professional relationship. They hardly saw each other, despite studying in the same school.

Kenny would go to Gregory's (lucky if the blonde wasn't home, painfully awkward when he was.) Christophe would fuck Kenny. Kenny would let him, and pretend that he meant for those sweet nothings to be for the poor blonde, and not the rich one. Christophe would pay Kenny. Kenny would leave.

_It was a bad idea from the start, falling in love. But Christophe, if not so hardened (pun unintended) could understand Kenny a bit better. His mother abused him, although indirectly, he knew of death, having experienced it once, and, of course, (we must mention) Christophe was quite gorgeous. When he was allowed, Kenny would spend the night at Greg's, not sleeping, but tracing the outline of the mercenary's face, and admiring the bone structure and terse muscles and those scars. (Kenny thought he might've had a thing for scars. It always amazed him how he came back absolutely unmarred.)_

_Kenny wished that he could cry into that chest, staining his tanned skin with his tears not Gregory's. He wished that Christophe would just come into the sudden realization that Gregory was nothing but a play toy, and that he loved Kenny. He craved the feeling of Chris' lips against his, without the mask Chris made him wear. He wished, simply, that the Frenchman would love him as much as he loved him._

Christophe entered unceremoniously. Both blondes snapped up to meet his gaze. But his was on Gregory. He smirked at the Brit, walked over, and blew smoke into his face. The blonde scrunched up his features and Christophe smirked. Kenny felt a little gear click into place in his mind. He scoffed to himself. _Was that it?_

Christophe was on his way up the stairs. He didn't call Kenny; Kenny knew to follow. The poor blonde (economy-wise) couldn't bear to glance back at Gregory.

Chris always told Kenny to shut up whilst making an extra effort to get the blonde to scream out loud. It was tiring and painful and _very_ painful and Kenny savoured every moment. This was all he was getting, and he was grateful because Gregory was getting nothing at all from this. Except maybe a slowly shattering heart.

Kenny sat up in the bed, slightly sore and more than slightly unhappy. He glanced at the mercenary, whose back was resting on the wall. The shovel and a gun sat close at hand. "Chris…"

"Ze money ees on ze dresser, as always," he drawled, not even turning to face the boy.

"I know," Kenny said softly, though not in a whisper. "Chris…you're in love with Gregory."

"Oui." So simply.

Kenny's head snapped up. "And the only reason you keep buying me is because I kinda look like him."

"Oui." How could he agree so simply?

"And I…"

"You love me." So fucking simply.

Kenny stared at him, fighting the urge to both burst out in tears and grab the gun. Which he did, after a few seconds, deciding that having decided everything with his gut his whole life, why change now? "You're an asshole." He was sure he would miss—the tears were blurring his eyesight too much. He knew he would miss.

He saw Gregory and Christophe the following week. The bandages peeked out of Chris' shirt. His left arm was in a sling. Both glared at the blonde, though both were softened somehow. Kenny saw Gregory peck Chris on the cheek before they headed for the next class. The Brit couldn't help but smile smugly at Kenny as they hurried off to catch the bell.

Kenny sighed. Well, of course they got their ending. Even if Christophe was probably going to be an abusive, insensitive piece of shit and Gregory was a naggy, conceited prude, they would get their fucking ending. And of course he didn't get his. Poor constantly-dying hoodrat whores never got their fucking endings. That would be. Fucking. Retarded.

D: D: D:

So that was. In my fucked up little head, it sounds like Lindsay Lohan is narrating it. Huh. Did anyone else get that?

Even with a friend helping me out, it sank. Saaank.

Please review.


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